


Accustomed To His Face

by kurtiepie



Series: Call On Me [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtiepie/pseuds/kurtiepie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hasn’t been two weeks yet, but Kurt couldn’t be more smitten with Blaine. The question, though, is if he should be.</p><p>A sequel to You Can Call On Me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first person Kurt tells is Elliott. He shows up at his door, bouncing on his toes as he waits for his friend to answer his noisy, quick-paced knocks. His phone is clutched in his hand like it has been since he told Blaine his name on Sunday.

When the door opens, revealing Elliott, sleep-mused and blinking against the light, a waterfall of words tumbles out of Kurt.

"Oh my god, you will not  _believe_  what my week has been like, it has been the most  _incredible_  thing you could ever imagine, I have to tell you-"

Elliott grabs his arm and pulls his inside to sit down and Kurt still doesn’t pause. He has to repeat himself several times, which is fine. It’s been five days and bottling all of this up has only left him giddy for the opportunity to talk about it. And though Elliott still seems to be in the process of waking up, Kurt can’t find it in him to feel bad; it’s two in the afternoon and Elliott should be awake for this gorgeous, glorious day.

“So- wait. He found your number in that library book?”

Kurt nods, squirming with eagerness to continue. It puts him even closer on the edge of the couch cushion where he’s perched, his hands clasped in his lap, fingers tangling and untangling together.

“But I thought the last guy who texted you scribbled it out.”

“Nope. Turns out he lied about it.” Kurt shrugs. “It’s gone now, though. I made Blaine prove it. And anyway, I’m kind of lucky that it was still there for Blaine to see.”

Kurt isn’t sure if he believes in fate — at least, not like he did in high school, when any of his expectations for romance were solely based on musicals and daydreams — but he does believe that, one way or another, they were meant to find each other. The sequence of events leading up to the moment their paths crossed feels too precarious to be a coincidence.

Kurt told Blaine as much last night during one of their whispered conversations, when he was sure Rachel and Santana were distracted and unlikely to eavesdrop.

 _“It’s like, ‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you forever,’_ ” Blaine had said, awe woven into his words.

It stole Kurt’s breath, to know that Blaine feels the same way.

Elliott blinks, then sighs. He rubs a hand over the dark stubble along his jaw. Everything about him is heavy and lengthened with sleep. Kurt’s heart patters with energy, so ready to continue that he feels like he could run in circles around the coffee table while Elliott kickstarts his own brain into comprehension.

“You seem- really excited about it.”

Kurt smiles. “Of course I’m excited! Have you not been paying attention?”

“I- kind of left my brain back in my bed.” Elliott yawns into the back of his hand, stretches his other arm over his head with a groan. “When did this happen now?”

“Well, it started on Sunday when Blaine texted me for the first time-”

“How have you kept this going on for this long?”

Heat blooms along Kurt’s face as he shrugs up his shoulders, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“After we resolved our initial little tiff, we started talking and now we-” Kurt sighs, absently rubs his palm over his knee. “We talk all the time.”

If Kurt wanted to be technical about it, they’ve been wrapped in one long conversation, cut with necessary intervals of sleep and showers and such. From simple, shallow, getting-to-know-you chats to hearty debates to knee-deep talks about their pasts and their private thoughts. Taking place over several mediums — text and phone calls, but also Skype and Snapchat and Facebook messages and FaceTime — the formats like puzzle pieces, fitting to form the story of their on-going correspondence.

Kurt defines how close they are by a story he told the night before last. It was after he’d gotten home from a grueling shift — Wednesday afternoons are the worst at the diner for some reason — and he only wanted to talk about comforting things. He spoke quietly over the phone about a church play he was in at age six, the smallest little angel in the choir, wearing a wrinkled white cloak and a gold tinsel halo bouncing overhead. Kurt remembered hating how the headband his halo was attached to cut into the space behind his ears, but he sang through it when he saw how happy his mom was as she filmed him from the front row. Blaine has called him ‘angel’ ever since.

He hears Elliott snort a laugh and looks up, eyebrows furrowing as Kurt watches him shake his head, an amused smile growing on his face as he looks up toward the ceiling. He says, voice quiet like he’s mouthing it rather than speaking, “Oh my god, you are the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.”

Kurt’s heart drops in his chest, but only a fraction. His eyes flicker to his iPhone where he placed it on the coffee table; he almost reaches for it, every cell in him insisting that he will feel better with that phone in his hand.

“All you did was complain about the people texting you,” Elliott says. “It was like the end of your life every time you got a new text from some random.”

Kurt’s eyelids sink a little, his face angling away from Elliott. He straightens his spine, shrugs a shoulder. “I do recall being a bit upset.”

“Your life was worse than anyone who’s had the number eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-nine.”

Kurt exhales, loud and long, through his nose.

“You remember saying that-?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Kurt snaps, crossing his arms. He scoots back, slumping against the back of the couch. “What’s your point?”

“I just don’t understand how you went from hating every single person who bothered you to falling over this guy like a love-struck puppy.” Kurt’s eyes snap over to Elliott, who’s already staring back, the expression on his face knowing in a way Kurt wants to punch. With a scrunch of his nose, Elliott adds, “If you want me to be honest, I find it adorable.”

Kurt’s face and ears are hot, his heart all over the place with the mention of love.

He is so not  _in love_.

(Just two hours ago, Blaine’s wide eyes shining in a snap Kurt had to screencap, a small smile on his pretty lips and his bowtie in soothing pink and blue checkered plaid, the caption reading  _Off on the job hunt I go!_ , but the focus is always brought back to those eyes, brighter than the sunlight illuminating his face, a collision of earthy colors that reflect warmth and goodness, such a  _breathtaking_  picture-)

 _Not_  in love.

“All I mean is that this is really unlike you.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Kurt asks, feels his throat clench and wonders if his voice sounded like it wavered.

Elliott’s mouth twitches out a thin line, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. He shrugs, then pauses, then shrugs again with a shake of his head. “Not- necessarily.”

“Because-” Kurt cuts off to think, wanting to be very concise about the way he words his thoughts. “Because I get how it might not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done, or the safest.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean-”

Kurt laughs, his shoulders slumping with the empty jog of his chest. “After I bitched him out, he just- apologized like he did. And he seemed nice. And he made me laugh.”

Kurt smiles, his eyes finding a comfortable stop staring at the corner of the vintage rug underneath the coffee table. Even through his initial confusion, instantly corrected by memories of his other pranksters, Kurt could feel how witty he was trying to be — a backward sort of nerdy joke that could’ve gotten a laugh if Kurt weren’t absolutely furious that his number didn’t seem to be blocked out like he believed it had been. That sense of humor kept shining through, and once it was coupled with the sincerity of his apologies, it made Blaine the sweetest guy Kurt has ever spoken to.

To be honest, Kurt wanted to keep him talking. Not texting him even now, when he knows Blaine is busy filling out job applications, is making him anxious. Without any sort of contact, it’s like Blaine disappears. Like he had never existed at all.

“I guess I want to keep all of that for myself.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” There’s a tense pause before Elliott speaks again, a humored apprehension in his voice. “How have Rachel and Santana reacted to this little thing you’ve got going on?”

Kurt winces, feels the answer write itself all over his face. “I haven’t- really- told them.”

Elliott’s jaw drops. “ _Oh my god_ , are you  _serious_? How have you been able to fawn over your phone and keep those girls off your back?”

“It’s been a challenge, but I like to think of it as an exercise for my acting skills,” Kurt says. “A strict and necessary exercise.”

Minding the way he grabs for his phone, how often he lets himself be absorbed in it when he’s in their company. Rachel hasn’t noticed his notifications on Facebook or his new top best friend on Snapchat yet, and Santana may know how to hack his social media accounts but without any suspicion lurking in her mind, she’s wholly uninterested in the construct and intricacy of it — surprisingly, creeping without warrant isn’t her style.

Keeping his smile in check is always the hardest part of maintaining this secret. He’s had to download some apps dedicated to cute animal memes so he can have an excuse for cooing down at his phone.

“You’re not going to tell them, are you? Because I can only imagine what sort of drama it would cause.”

Kurt grimaces. “I think I’ll have to at some point, though. I don’t like hiding this from them, it feels like too big of a secret to keep.”

Elliott’s eyebrows pop up. “ _Ohh_ , is it getting that serious?”

Kurt scoffs, waving a hand at his friend as he turns his head away.

The way it keeps coming back around to the nature of his relationship with Blaine makes him nervous. He hasn’t dated seriously since Trevor, the self-righteous shining knight that put his number in the book, a guy he meet through a friend of Elliott’s at a Halloween party last year. Trevor has been his only experience with actual dating life and it shattered a lot of Kurt’s preconceived notions about relationships, even if they’d already been watered down since arriving to New York and discovering how romance takes place in ‘the real world.’

He doesn’t like putting those experiences next to what he has with Blaine, even if- technically? Yes, it is getting serious. As serious as a few days can get.

Blaine is incredible. He is amazing. He has brought so much life into Kurt’s days since Sunday.

But Kurt  _isn’t_  in love.

(Even though he is a little in love.

Not seriously, though.

But a little.)

*

The next day, Kurt tells Santana. That conversation is the verbal equivalent of popping a balloon. Or, more specifically, strangling it until it pops.

Her first react after his big reveal is to cackle.

The only thing she has to say when he shows her the snap he saved of Blaine is, “He dresses like Easter. What a dweeb.”

And all she can ask once he’s done is if Blaine’s a sex offender, or if he sends random dick pics, or if he talks about dreaming of the way Kurt’s skin smells.

“This  _isn’t funny_  to me, Santana!” Kurt shouts. “If you’re going to keep making fun of us, then you can just forget I ever told you anything. And you can forget  _ever_  calling me a friend again.”

A frown touches Santana’s lips, and though he’s not sure he would totally drop Santana over this, he’s satisfied to see that she is affected by his threat.

Until a puff of a cry pushes out of her mouth, now pouty and pinched, her shoulders shaking with her put-on sobs.

“Oh, oh no? Kurtie won’t be my  _friend_  anymore? How will I  _ever_  make it through the rest of first grade?”

His chair screeches across the floor as he scoots back from the table, storming to his room to the sound of her witch laughter.

*

The following day officially turns it into a week since he 'met' Blaine, and after consideration more carefully executed than he’s processed so far, Kurt decides to tell Rachel.

He’d hoped for something less cruel than Santana, maybe something that didn’t make him think so much like Elliott had.

Somehow, though, it turns out both better and worse.

“I don’t think I would trust some random person who thought it would be funny to prank me.”

Kurt slumps back against his chair, the spring squealing underneath it. His eyes bore into the high ceiling as he says, “ _For the last time_ , Rachel, it  _wasn’t_   _personal_. And even so, he at least apologized.”

“So? I know  _I_  don’t go around texting people I don’t know when I’m bored. Honestly, he doesn’t seem to know how to use his time constructively.” She tucks her blanket closer around her body, burrowing deeper into her corner of the couch. “I think you could do better.”

Kurt breathes deeply through his nose, squeezing his phone in his hand.

“You wanna see the picture again?”

Rachel rolls her eyes as she gives a laugh. “He’s handsome, I  _know_ , I saw that. That doesn’t mean you should trust him. You’ve never actually met him face to face, so how can you, you know, get a feel for who he really is without that personal element?”

“We’ve talked about  _plenty_  of personal things. He probably knows more about me than anyone, including you.”

She frowns at him, but he doesn’t let himself feel guilty. It’s not a lie – he’s been more confessional with Blaine than he has been with Rachel or his father or even his diary when he tried keeping up with one. Embarrassing thoughts and memories lose their irksome auras when he has Blaine to draw them out of him.

There’s no way he could express that to Rachel, though, if she only sees Blaine as a strange little stranger.

“I’m just worried about how safe you’re being,” she says. “It’s always the charming ones you have to watch out for.”

Her voice is gentle as she speaks, and no matter how much Kurt wants to rage against it, he can’t. She just- doesn’t understand, and Kurt doesn’t feel like arguing anymore.

His phone vibrates in his hand. He’s sure it’s from Blaine. And yet, for the first time all week, Kurt doesn’t want to look at it.

*

_“You seem quiet tonight.”_

Kurt chuckles, yanking the blankets over his head and getting comfortable with the pillows. He doesn’t have to hide or mind his voice anymore since he’s told Santana and Rachel, but it still feels necessary. Rather than taking measures to keep from being found out, he wants to take them so he can save this from being tarnished any further.

It seems like keeping Blaine to himself had been the right idea, after all.

“Sorry,” Kurt says. He sighs, already starting to feel the stuffy air trapped under the blanket with him. “Some things have happened over the past couple of days and- it’s been some pretty tough stuff to hear.”

He hasn’t told Blaine about the talks he’s had with his friends about them. Bringing that negativity into their conversation feels like too much of a shame. He’d rather stay happy for as long as he can make this last.

Because, really, how long  _can_  this last?

Blaine has mentioned his own friends giving him flak about chatting up a guy he found in a library book, but he’s never dived much deeper beyond a nonchalant, eye-roll of a comment. Kurt knows, though, that the world will press in on them. Blaine will find a job and get busy and forget about Kurt, or Kurt will land that internship at vogue.com and get busier and forget about Blaine.

They are words on a screen, voices over a line, pictures that disintegrate in seconds if you don’t save them fast enough.

They are not substantial. They are wholly temporary.

The thought of losing this temporary thing hurts Kurt’s heart. He hasn’t been this happy in months, hasn’t smiled this much in months. Endings have always been terrible things to Kurt, and it will kill him to see this one come to pass.

Blaine’s voice is a gentle, coaxing note in his ear saying,  _“Hey,”_  to recapture his attention.

“Sorry. Again.”

_“It’s fine, angel, don’t worry. I just wanted to see if I could possibly cheer you up?”_

A smile blooms on Kurt’s face before he can stop it. In the back of his mind, a voice like Santana’s tells him that it’ll be some inappropriate picture, an offering that says,  _How can you be sad when my hot bod exists?_  But Kurt knows beyond a doubt that Blaine isn’t anything less than a gentleman. Polite and modest even when Kurt would maybe enjoy a picture of him shirtless. Earnest and good like he’s being now.

“You can certainly try,” Kurt says, gliding his fingers along the soft underside of his comforter in front of his face.

_“Okay, well- And stop me if I’m going completely off course here.”_

“Of course,” Kurt says. He hears the stilted suspicion of his voice and bites the inside of his cheek, hoping that Blaine didn’t pick up on it.

Blaine seems distracted, though. Nervous, his sigh loud enough for the speaker to pick up, a very faint “okay” audible but clearly not meant for Kurt. It serves to pique Kurt’s curiosity even further, tension lining his muscles.

_“Alright, so. I know that it's only been a week today, but I’ve- I’ve enjoyed talking to you so much, Kurt.”_

Kurt’s smile ignites on his face again, growing wide, making his cheeks ache. “I’m- happy to hear that. I’ve enjoyed talk to you, too.”

 _“I- I wish you could see how much I’m smiling right now.”_  Blaine laughs, quiet and giddy, and it bubbles up in Kurt’s chest, makes him feel like giggling, too.  _“You’ve become- so important to me over the past few days, and I would- I would really like to meet you.”_

His breath catches in his throat, heart hammering in his chest. The warm air under the blanket pushes down on him, crowds him until he has to sit up, light and cool air gliding over his skin and raising goosebumps.

His mouth is open, but he’s not sure what to say.

No? The thought of denying Blaine makes everything in him recoil, his body rejecting the thought of losing such an amazing opportunity.

Yes? Even if he hadn’t wanted to hear it, Rachel’s caution has planted seeds of doubt in him. The safety Blaine lulls him into with his words, how accustomed Kurt’s grown to his voice, could very well be an illusion, if all the internet-wary adults are right.

…A thousand times yes? That just sounds desperate, no matter how you spin it.

Blaine’s voice clamors over the speaker to say,  _“I mean, if you’re comfortable with it, but if you aren’t then of course we don’t have to. I just thought that it would be nice to see each other in- Well, I don’t want to say ‘in real life,’ but-”_

“In person?” Kurt says, breathless.

At the same time, Blaine sounds as if he can finally breathe, his voice a grateful sigh.

_“Yeah. In person. If you’d want to.”_

Kurt wants to. He wants to see Blaine all in one three-dimensional, completely solid, warm and real piece. He wants those eyes on him, wants to see how they shine without filters or grainy photo quality. He wants to hear his voice in person, make him laugh and hear it and see it in real time. Wants to feel the way he hugs, and not only because of how nice his arms look in pictures – though that’s another thing he’s eager to encounter in the flesh.

And yet.

His friends have added new dimensions to it. Ramifications, implications, boundaries and potential dangers.

_Is it getting that serious?_

Yes.

But-

_It’s always the charming ones…_

_“Kurt?”_

“ _Sorry_ , sorry. I’m just- trying to process it.” He scoots backward to the pillows until his back is against the headboard. “When would we do this?”

_“I was thinking, maybe, tomorrow evening, if you’re free?”_

Kurt’s eyes blink wide. “That’s so soon.”

 _“I know, I know, I just- really want to see you. And I know that that might seem a little-_ intense _, all things considered. I meant it, though, if I’ve made you uncomfortable, all you need to do is tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”_

Kurt isn’t sure what to tell him. The thing is, he can picture the worried pinch between Blaine’s eyebrows, the tense line of his mouth, his pajama-sleeved arm wrapped around a pillow like he does when it’s late and they’re talking. He collected these images through video chat and pictures, but that doesn’t change what the body language means.

And his voice is just so  _nice_ ; he knows that that’s the weakest argument he has, but he’s never heard Blaine sound anything other than well-intentioned.

Kurt doesn’t believe Blaine would hurt him. He could be just as correct in that instinct as he might be mistaken in it.

All he can really trust in this moment is himself and his gut.

He pulls the blanket over his legs, asks, “And what exactly would this meeting entail?”

_“Well, what I would really like to do is take you to dinner, if you would like that.”_

Heat floods Kurt’s face, his heart pattering. He’d been expecting something more secluded – and Rachel would probably slap him across the face for even contemplating being okay with that – but going to dinner has a whole different atmosphere around it.

Kurt clears his throat quietly, resists voicing the thoughts bouncing around his mind ( _Date? Is this a date? Are you asking me on a date right now, are we going on a date? A **date**?_ ) as he says, "I think I could be okay with that. Where would we go?”

_“Gosh, I’m not sure. Somewhere nice.”_

“I thought you were a broke college student.”

_“I’m also a spoiled kid with a credit card my parents gave me.”_

Kurt giggles, covering his mouth when he feels like he might be loud enough to draw attention from outside of his room.

 _“So?”_  Blaine says. Kurt can hear the smile in his voice.  _“What’s the verdict?”_

Kurt sighs, stares at the clothing rack in the corner of his room. Already, he starts to plan out what he will wear.

“You really want to take me to dinner?”

_“Indeed, I do.”_

Warmth, radiating through the speaker, simmering under his skin.

“Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can it feel like you've known someone forever when you've only just met?

_Okay_ , Kurt thinks, smoothing down his outfit one more time.  _Game plan: don’t stop, don’t speak, don’t make a sound until you’re out the door._

He can hear Santana and Rachel talking on the other side of the loft, the clink of plates and chime of silverware dotting their conversation. Neither one of them have called for him or peeked in, but he can smell whatever is in the oven now and he knows someone will be coming to get him for dinner soon.

He thinks back to his conversation with Elliott earlier in the day, and while his friend had expressed a lot of feelings – shock, uncertainty, caution, more shock, shock-to-the-point-of-laughing-because-oh-my- _god_ -Kurt – in the end, he was just happy for him.

Elliott offered to let Kurt get ready over at his place if he thought that the girls would be too much of a pain. At the time, Kurt thought he would be able to handle them, but now he wishes he would have accepted that little blessing. Not only because he knows- he may be in denial, but he  _knows_  he won’t be able to make it past Santana and Rachel without enduring some questions, but because-

The lighting in his room, it’s just-

It’s so  _dark_ , why did he choose to put such dark burgundies and blacks against his complexion, he looks like a  _vampire_  in this light. Why is he just now considering this?

He falls over himself, yanking off blazer and pants and button-up to throw on something a little brighter, not as carefully chosen, true, but maybe he won’t look like an eyestrain in the dim lighting of a nice restaurant.

_Nice restaurants are known for their dim lighting, aren’t they?_

He hears Rachel calling his name as he does up the buttons on his shirt; the curtain rod jingles as she pulls the curtain aside, and he’s standing there with his pants and belt undone, hands fumbling with a waistcoat.  _Do the grays of these pieces even match?_

Rachel laughs an “um,” turning her head away but also stepping back, opening his room and his almost-dressed self to the loft and the light and-

_Yeah, the grays match. Excellent._

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he hears Santana shout.

He’s still buttoning buttons and securing his belt as he replies, “That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, I would definitely say that’s not true,” Rachel says, her voice dancing in playful waves. “Since I have so graciously prepared a meal for  _three_ , I think it would be nice to know why we’ll be one short.”

“Nope.”

“Do you have a date?”

“Nope.”

“I think you’re a liar.”

He steps into his shoes, grabs his wallet and his phone from the nightstand, and walks past Rachel without so much as a glance.

“Nope.”

He’s halfway to the door when Santana leaps up from her seat at the table, blocking his way, moving every way he moves, reflexes quick and arms out to cage him. There’s a quick scuff of Rachel’s footsteps as she comes up behind him, and he sighs, crossing his arms and allowing himself to be captured.

“Who is he, Kurt?”

“You can wipe that smile off your face, Rachel,” Kurt says. He doesn’t turn to face her, keeping his eyes on Santana. When she gives him a dark little glimmer of a look, a smirk creeping on her face, he rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t approve.”

“And why is that, Lady Hummel?” Santana asks. “Got a tattooed lover boy you’ve been keeping secret?”

The nerves in his body are making him feel jittery, though at the moment they’re just as much related to his current aggravation as his anticipation for tonight. His hands clench and unclench and he can’t stop shifting his weight from one leg to the other, too shivery to stand in place.

He’s been cornered. His game plan has failed him.

So, what else can he do?

“More like a bow-tied ‘dweeb’ of a boy, but that barely even matters,” he says, using their moment to process what he said to dart out from between them.

“Wait- You’re  _meeting_  the prank guy?” Rachel’s voice is shrill at his back, strangled bafflement. “Kurt, do you know how  _dangerous_  that is? You don’t even really know him!”

“Weren’t you the one talking about getting to know someone face to face?” Kurt stops by the counter near the door to grab his key. He looks back to see Rachel’s wide and worried eyes, the shocked drop of Santana’s jaw. Whereas Rachel couldn’t look more opposed to this, Santana looks like she could burst out into laughter at any moment.

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had, Kurt, please don’t go, are you even- Will you even be in public?” Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, a hand held out in front of her like she can make time freeze with just that motion. “You’re not going to his house, are you?”

Kurt looks away, focuses on checking his hair in the wall-mounted mirror.

“It’s fine, Rach, we’re meeting at the restaurant. The _crowded_ restaurant, where we will be surrounded by lots and lots and lots of people.”

“I personally believe this is a wonderful idea.” Kurt turns his head at the same time that Rachel whips around, both of them staring at Santana. She shrugs, says to Rachel, “The guy looks about as dangerous as a rabbit. And not even one you find in the yard, he’s like- a pet store rabbit. He’d probably fall over dead if Hummel touched his hand, his heart just can’t take it.”

He stares at Santana for a moment, eyebrows furrowed.

A pet store rabbit.

Kurt shakes his head. “Alright, I’m just gonna be- leaving now. Don’t wait up! Don’t- follow me, dear god.”

“But Kurt!”

“Text me if he’s wearing that girly plaid bowtie again. And,  _hey_ \- bonus points if he’s got buckteeth!”

He slides the door closed behind him and wonders, depending on how well they hit it off tonight, if he can just live with Blaine from now on.

*

His heart is pounding when he pulls the tall door of the restaurant open. Though he texted Blaine a couple of times letting him know he might be running late, he gets there at exactly the time they planned to meet.

Only, he doesn’t see Blaine standing in the entryway. Kurt looks at every face waiting around the circular little space, tired men in suits and mothers leaning down to talk to their young children all crowding the smooth tile floor.

The restaurant is- incredible. Dimly lit like Kurt had assumed it would be, with high ceilings painted to look like the sky and a neutral décor that Kurt loves even if he feels overpowered by how dark everything is. Wait-staff bustle by in white button-ups with black pants and ties. The hostess is wearing a black dress that ends just below her knees, modern but flattering to her aging features.

As he approaches the podium, tentative and slow in hopes that Blaine might jump out from some hiding place, the hostess smiles. For a moment, he’s distracted by how white her teeth are.

She greets him, welcomes him, and asks, “Do you have a reservation, or would you like to make one?”

His eyebrows twitch up, his hands tightening around each other where they’re clasped in front of him. It could be one of her standard question, but suddenly, he feels unprepared.

“Oh- uh, I’m-” Kurt clears his throat. “I’m with Blaine Anderson? That should be a party for two?”

Her dark eyes light up as she nods. “Ah, alright! He just came through a few minutes ago. I’ll show you to your table.”

She turns on her heels, and Kurt almost forgets to follow her for a moment. All of the anticipation, nerves, anxiety of seeing Blaine – he is literally being led to him, and at a rather quick pace – fogs his brain, his fingers twitching and shaking harder with every step he takes.

A question makes it through the tangle of his excitement: How thoroughly did Blaine plan this? Kurt has never heard of this restaurant before, isn’t acquainted with their policies, so he doesn’t know how far in advance you have to get a table here. They’d only discussed this last night, so late that it could technically be called the next morning. And Blaine had at least appeared to be pulling these plans out of thin air.

Kurt’s starting to doubt that, though.

They’re almost to the back of the restaurant now, dodging swift-footed wait-staff and food handlers holding enormous trays high. The hostess doesn’t slow, but he sees her arm raise from her side, her hand outstretched and turning, and then she stops, presenting his table to him. The booth facing Kurt is empty, but he sees a head of shiny, dark hair almost blending with the material of the booth.

Kurt steps up, eyes falling on a face both familiar and new.

The hostess’s cheerful, “Enjoy your meal,” is a distance voice somewhere behind him. All he can focus on is Blaine, his eyes wide and caught on shock like he’s holding his breath, his lips parted just a bit – before they part more and spread into an enormous smile.

Kurt doesn’t know what his face is doing, feels numb with how different it is to see him within arm’s reach-

And then closer as Blaine darts out of the booth and pushes himself into Kurt’s arms, hugging him tightly around the middle.

Blaine is so solid and warm against him, smells like raspberries and cologne in some odd combination that Kurt finds himself adoring so quickly. He can feel Blaine’s cheek against his neck, and Kurt doesn’t know how okay it is with this crowd, but he wraps his arms around him and squeezes as tight as he can without feeling like he’s going to break him.

He hears Blaine whisper, “Oh my god,” and he doesn’t know if it’s for him or not, but he smiles hard enough to hurt anyway.

“It’s- so amazing to see you in person,” Kurt says.

“I know how you feel,” Blaine replies, his voice soft. So different to hear this way.

Kurt nudges his chin against Blaine’s cheek before pulling back, his hands holding onto his shoulders just for a moment. Just so he can look at him.

There’s such an open look to him, the expression on his face awed as he stares back at Kurt, his eyes never wavering. He’s not wearing pastel or plaid, a loud “ha!” resounding in his brain when he notices; rather, he has on a red polo, paired with a navy blue sweater vest and a red-navy-white striped bowtie. The word ‘smart’ comes to Kurt’s mind, such an outdated term, though in this instance he thinks of it more as classic.

Kurt is on a (might-as-well-be) date with a classically handsome, smartly dressed guy around his age.

Such a welcome change of pace.

In his periphery, Kurt sees someone approaching them, and he looks over Blaine’s shoulder to see the guy who must be their waiter, tired-looking but smiling, watching them as he comes closer. When he catches Kurt’s stare, he says, “Hey, guys!” and Kurt lets go of Blaine so that they can take their seats.

Once greetings and drink orders have been finished, Kurt turns to Blaine, leaning a bit closer, eyes narrowed.

“How did you get a table here?”

He sees pink bloom on Blaine’s cheeks, notices how long his eyelashes are as he keeps his eyes focused down at his hands. He unfolds his napkin-rolled utensils the waiter just placed on their table.

There’s not an open table in the entire restaurant, at least not as far as Kurt could tell when the hostess led him over. The people waiting by the door must not be here for no reason, even if they haven’t made reservations. But there’s no ignoring that this is a busy place, and Blaine managed to score them a table with no apparent difficulty.

“It’s not like I had to, like- pull any strings or anything,” Blaine says. Delicately, he moves his silverware from the napkin onto his small side plate. “This place is nice, but it’s not  _that_  upscale.”

Kurt watches him fold the napkin into a neat rectangle and place it aside, then open his menu, skimming the options.

His eyes pop up eventually, though, and he rolls his eyes, breathing out a sigh through his nose.

“I may have called in a reservation yesterday.”

“You didn’t ask me until late last night,” Kurt says, raising an eyebrow.

“I- may have been betting on you saying yes?”

Kurt’s eyes widen, making a sound falling just short of a laugh as he shakes his head at Blaine. “So what if I would’ve said no?”

Blaine shrugs, looking flustered, though the joy never dims on his face.

“Then I would've canceled. Or I could’ve brought one of my friends.”

Kurt does laugh then, quiet except for the catch of his breath; he brings his hand up to cover his mouth as his shoulders bounce and chest jogs to the little fit.

“But I suppose that doesn’t matter now,” Blaine says, a sly upward tilt of his chin. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Kurt snorts, shakes his head just because he can.

He shrugs. “I suppose so.”

Blaine’s eyes somehow manage to glitter brighter than the sun, even as it sets behind some horizon away from here.

*

(Inside Kurt’s pants pocket, his silenced phone floods with text messages.

**From Rachel [7:03PM]:**   _Just checking in to see if you’re alright, please respond._

**From Rachel [7:04PM]:**   _Are you alright Kurt? Answer me._

**From Rachel [7:06PM]:**   _Don’t make me call you._

**From Rachel [7:11PM]:**   _You’re scaring me, answer your phone._

**From Santana [7:11PM]:**   _either answer Rachel or I’m going to kick you in the nads when you get home. I told her not to freak but she IS a freak, so my hands are pretty much tied._

**From Santana [7:12PM]:**   _has he said something creepy yet?_

**From Rachel [7:12PM]:**   _I’m putting a tracker on your phone after this, don’t think I won’t_

**From Santana [7:13PM]:**   _try to get a picture, I feel like he’s looking particularly bunny like tonight, am I right?_

**From Rachel [7:13PM]:**   _It’s not that I don’t trust you, I’m just worried. You know that, right?_

**From Santana [7:14PM]:**   _I’m so right, aren’t I?_

**From Rachel [7:14PM]:**   _Snap me so I know where you are_

**From Rachel [7:16PM]:**   _K U R T_

**From Santana [7:18PM]:**   _I told her your phone is probs on silent, but could you please for the love of god answer her so I can have some fcking peace? thnx lady_ )

*

Talking with Blaine in person, it turns out, is just as easy as it is over the phone. Kurt thanks whatever deities may or may not exist for that fact.

At first, he had been worried that it would be different. Feel different, have a different sort of power or restriction to it.

In the end, it turns out that Blaine’s energy – pleasant, cheerful, enthusiastic, and dramatic in ways complementary to Kurt’s own maintenance level – is almost tangible in person.

And yet, Kurt can still sense some reservation, some nervousness about coming too close to what Kurt has finally realized has been flirting. So much of their banter over the past few days has been elevated beyond certain decorums, risky even over the phone but safer when you don’t have to look them in the face when you say it.

For Kurt, this is no problem. He’s used to flirting, has grown into it over the years. He would never call himself a ‘smooth talker,’ but he knows his assets and he knows how to play them up.

Blaine, on the other hand, seems very skittish every time they edge toward anything a little more familiar in those terms. Kurt’s not sure why, since he participates easily over the phone; whether it’s shyness or propriety for the place they’re in, if it's the little distance between tables and their occupants or he simply changed his mind about flirting with Kurt, he doesn’t know.

All Kurt knows is that he’s been making Blaine blush all evening and every bit of guilt he feels is overpowered by the thrill he gets at the sight of those cheeks turning red and those eyes going breathless-wide before darting away.

He always makes sure to bring the conversation back around, though. If he’s going to derail it, he may as well be the one to put it back on track.

After one particular time that leaves Blaine quiet for a little bit longer, after they’ve cleared their plates of their foot and are waiting on their waiter to come back to take their dessert order, Kurt says, “Tell me a story.”

Blaine focuses his eyes back on him, his eyebrows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Anything you want,” Kurt says, sitting back farther in the booth, his back against the cool, stiff fabric. “I’m pretty versatile.”

A pursed little frown forms on Blaine’s face as he thinks, the silence stretching for a moment. Kurt doesn’t know how it can be so adorable to watch someone contemplate something, but Blaine has mastered thinking cutely with remarkable ease.

Slowly, the frown turns into a grin, and then a wide smile.

“Alright, I have something,” Blaine says, leaning his weight on his elbows, both placed on the table. “Make sure you follow me on this one, it’s pretty long.”

Kurt nods, relaxing against the booth, as he watches Blaine with kind eyes.

“So: Once upon a time, there was a young man who grew up in a small town. There wasn’t much to do there, so he would spend a lot of his time looking at the sky. During the daytime, he’d look for things in the clouds, you know, or watch airplanes go by and imagine who’s on them and where they’re going. Very imaginative kid.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Kurt says, and Blaine gives him a narrow-eyed look, a teasing grin curling on his lips.

“Shh, none of that, goofball. Anyway, what the young man enjoyed most was watching the night sky. He liked looking up at the stars and the moon and imagining what it would be like to explore out there. The night sky felt so infinite to him, and compared to his town, the thought of all that space was incomprehensible – and he loved that.

“So, one day, once he grew up and got the credentials, he became an astronaut-”

“This story is so weird,” Kurt says, now resting his chin in one hand, his elbow propped on the table.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to get weirder.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“ _Shh_ , you said tell a story and I’m telling it.” Blaine shoots him a wink. “You’ll see what all this is about when we get there, I promise."

With an exaggerated sigh, Kurt says, "Alright, tell on then."

“Anyway, the young man became an astronaut, and his first mission was to go out and explore a strange structure hanging around Mars. Not a satellite, and definitely nothing that’s been rigged up on Earth – at least, to anyone’s knowledge.

“He takes the mission, and once he comes upon the structure, he finds that it is an alien spacecraft. And that there are beings inside of it.”

Kurt gives a little gasp, perfectly, purposefully timed. Blaine chuckles and takes a sip of his sweet tea.

“I know, very dramatic,” Blaine says, rolling his eyes. “But the aliens on the craft invite him and his team to board, and they do. The young man meets the captain of the craft, a very imposing looking being, sort of bulky around – but he didn’t look dissimilar to any normal human at all. Really, it was only his mannerisms and the way he spoke that gave him away.

“As the young man and the alien talk, now in a room alone, away from the rest of the team, they learn they’re alike in just as many ways as they are different. It’s a deep conversation that goes on for hours. The biggest discovery they make is that the alien, unlike the young man, has tentacles, three on each side of his body, down his torso.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, lifting his head to hold his palm up to Blaine. “I’m going to have to stop you, where  _exactly_  is this going?”

“I said you’ll know when I get there.”

“Is this story appropriate for public?”

“Oh my  _god_ ,  _Kurt_.” He catches the flash of pink rushing up to Blaine’s face before he hides it away in his hands.

He debates stopping there. A grin growing on his face at the thought of pushing him a little more, though.

“Because if this is going where I think it’s going, I’m not even sure I would continue it in private.”

Blaine’s hands drop to the table, his face edging on a darker pink.

“It’s _not dirty_ , oh my god!”

Kurt hums, taps his fingers on the table.

“Are you going to let me finish?” Blaine asks.

“Well,” Kurt says, looking away as if in thought. “I suppose since you’ve gone on this long.”

“ _Thank_ you.” When Kurt sticks his tongue out at him, Blaine scrunches his nose and looks away. “So after they’ve finished talking, the young man returns to his ship. He and his team return home, their mission successful since the alien spacecraft disappeared as soon as they started on their way back to Earth.

“Still, though, the young man couldn’t forget the alien. He'd looked so human and seemed just as reasonable and intelligent as any human he’s met. Months pass, but the young man never forgot him.

“One night, as he’s lying in bed, staring out the window at the stars, the young man realizes that he is in love with the alien. And as happy as that makes him, it hurts him to know that he will never see him ever again.”

Blaine takes another drink, and in that pause, Kurt thinks that might be the end of the story. It was a very weird story; Kurt had stopped trying to find the hidden meaning in it a while back. Still, he wanted to demand a happy ending, not liking the way this one makes his heart sink.

Then, Blaine sits his glass down and says, “Until.”

“ _Oh_ , thank god.”

Blaine bites his lip, a light in his eyes as he looks at Kurt.

“Until one day, when there was a knock on the young man’s door. He opens it and, to his total shock, there stands the alien. Not as bulky looking, maybe a little tired, but the young man had never seen a person look so happy to see him in his life.

“The young man invites the alien inside, and they talk, and he learns that the alien had his tentacles removed.”

Kurt gasps. “Oh my god, why?”

_Why am I so invested in this?_

“Because he wanted to be with him. The young man wouldn’t survive on his planet without tentacles, but the alien could make it on Earth if he went without. The surgery caused him a lot of pain, and that pain would stay with him for the rest of his life, but that didn’t matter to him. He just wanted to see the young man again.

“And so, the young man and the alien lived happily ever after.”

Kurt blinks, staring at the little upward tilt of Blaine’s mouth, the giddy look in his eyes that Kurt can’t decide upon. He feels like he’s missing something important, but he can’t figure out what it is.

“Okay, so,” he says, slowly. “Why did you tell me that story?”

“Because I think you’re out of this world.”

Kurt blinks, his jaw dropping as he lets the words sink in, watches the twitch of Blaine’s lips as he tries to keep the laughter in while Kurt’s brain is still processing the ‘ _really?_ ’ of what he just heard.

“I- think I’m going to kill you,” Kurt says like a casual realization.

Laughter bursts from Blaine’s mouth, not enough to pull attention but still open and loud among the chatter of conversation.

“That was- the longest pickup line I’ve ever heard,” Kurt says, his brain still reeling.  _I think Santana was right; I’ve found myself a dweeb._  His eyes are scrunched up with his laughter, and Kurt thinks,  _At least he’s the cutest dweeb I've ever met._ “I don’t know whether to be impressed or just leave you here to think about what you’ve done.”

“I will totally understand if you never talk to me again,” Blaine says, voice still bright and happy. “Though you would be missing out, because that was perfect.”

“Wait, wait, so- am  _I_  the alien in this situation?” Kurt says, pointing to himself. “Because that’s pretty freakin’ bold, to say I’d cut off limbs to be with you.”

Blaine shrugs. “I was sort of casting myself as the alien in this one.”

It’s the weirdest thing that’s ever made his heart pick up in his chest, but it happens, a thud in his chest that spreads warmth throughout his body.

“This one?”

“I’ve got a million of them,” Blaine says with another wink, serene and liquid motion with the success of his story.

“I’m almost afraid to find out.”

“I wouldn’t be.”

Kurt is inclined to agree.

*

Alien love stories aside, Blaine doesn’t fall short of a single expectation Kurt had held before meeting him. Witty, considerate, generous, good.

Like the gentleman he is, Blaine offers to walk Kurt home. It’s rather late and Kurt almost declines, preferring that Blaine would get home at a reasonable hour rather than worrying about him.

“It’s fine. Worst case scenario, I crash at your place?” he says, his voice sounding like a joke, but Kurt hears the honest question underneath.

“I wouldn’t call that a worst case scenario,” Kurt replies, weaving his arm around Blaine’s as they walk up the stairs from the subway station.

When they’d gotten up from their table and Kurt noticed Blaine had a navy blue jacket with him, he had stopped him from pulling it on. The night air is a little chilly as they walk, and Kurt can feel how cool Blaine’s skin is to touch, but he keeps hold of his arm, his fingers tracing over his bicep, creeping along just under the short sleeve of his polo.

“It’s not- like- I have the best arms in the world or anything,” Blaine says, becoming flustered once he realizes what Kurt is doing.

“Mm, I think they’re the best.” He tightens his hold around his arm, bumping his hip against Blaine's as they walk down his block. He notices the way Blaine’s shoulders move back, his chest puffing out ever so slightly with pride, the way the smile he’s holding back finds his way onto his face; he presses a kiss into his shoulder, and resumes his fingers’ tracing over his skin once more.

They talk on the elevator and as they walk down the hall. It’s so ridiculously easy being with Blaine that it hurts his heart to have him go. So close to the tip of his tongue is an offer to stay. He could make sound reasonable or convenient or appealing -- though he wonders just how hard he would have to try to convince him.

He knows he can’t invite Blaine inside, though. Even as they reach his door and he turns to face Blaine, grabbing his hands just so there’s some attachment between them, he knows that inviting him inside would also invite a heated interrogation about their relationship that Kurt isn’t sure they’re ready for yet.

“I had such a nice time tonight, Blaine,” Kurt says, his voice soft.

His voice is audible contentment, warm happiness, when he says, “Me too, angel.”

And he can’t stop the smile, his nose and eyes scrunching with it. To be honest, Kurt has never been a cutesy pet name sort of guy, but he’s sure that Blaine would never guess that from the way Kurt reacts.

Blaine reacts as well, everything in his expression lighting up with Kurt’s smile, and it’s the sweetest thing in the world to him in that moment.

Kurt takes a quick breath, then says, “I think I’m going to kiss you now.”

Blaine’s eyes widen a bit, his mouth parting with a gasp Kurt barely hears.

His eyes flutter, then he says, faint, “When you figure out, go ahead.”

Kurt shakes his head as he leans down, his smile matching Blaine’s as they meet. There’s no hesitation, no worry; it’s a slow, steady kiss that he wants to get lost in for the rest of his life.

Blaine’s hand comes up to cup Kurt’s jaw and Kurt’s arms move over Blaine’s shoulders to bring them closer. And it’s so nice to feel Blaine against him, the warmth, the solidity, the way his chest moves in harried pushes with his breathing.

But what Kurt always enjoys about kissing is the sound. The noises their lips make as they move, open and growing wet, the rhythm of the give and take. The way Blaine’s breath hitches and sighs and puffs out, how it might be starting to edge on the softest, barely-there vocal noises, causing Kurt to shiver and push his body closer to Blaine’s.

Kurt is just starting to think about licking his tongue across Blaine’s bottom lip, just a small lash because why not, when Blaine pulls back, the parting smack so delicate that Kurt doesn’t realizes he’s leaning back in until he hears (and feels) Blaine laugh, “Should we really be kissing in your hallway?”

With a small groan, Kurt pulls back, his vision swimming for a moment as he looks around.

“There’s no one else here,” Kurt says. He looks back at Blaine, takes in his flushed face and shining eyes and sighs. “But I suppose you’re right. I’d love to invite you inside, but- roommates.”

Blaine gives a vague nod, bites his lip. He looks over Kurt’s shoulder, then says, “Can’t we go to your room?”

Heat pours from his chest down his body, and for a moment, his brain clouds over. Yes, yes, they could go to his room, why would he ever believe any differently?

_No, no, wait-_

“We could," Kurt says. It's a task to keep his eyes on Blaine's and off of his lips. "But my room has a distinct like of walls. Or doors. Or, really, anything more substantial than a sheet separating us from them.”

Blaine winces. “Yikes. I’d say that my place has walls, but I share a room with Sam, so I can’t say that would work.”

Kurt chuckles, reaching out for Blaine's hands again.

“Next time?”

There's nothing but brightness, strong enough to rival the sun and the stars, on Blaine's face and in his voice as he says, “Next time.”


End file.
